


diamond in the dust

by ashinan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dorks in Love, Exhaustion, Fluff, M/M, Minor Space Battle, Naked Cuddling, Too Hot Showers, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 12:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: Bruised but victorious, Keith and Shiro spend an exhausted moment together.





	diamond in the dust

**Author's Note:**

> so listen there is only one type of sheith I write and it’s apparently soft af and that is my default I apologize for nothing enjoy these goobers being sweet and sappy and in love with each other oh also there is mild nakedness but its in the context of exhausted cuddling

Jerking Black to the side, Shiro dodges a shot from the largest ship, wincing when it grazes Black’s flank. She groans her fatigue through the bond. They’ve formed and disbanded Voltron so many times throughout the course of this fight that Shiro’s shaking from exhaustion himself, both mental and physical. His left wrist quakes, palm sweating and sore in his glove as he yanks on the controls. Black spins.

They’d run into the fleet on accident. The surprise had been double sided, though the Galra fleet had numbers on their side and had pummelled the Castle while the Lions were still waking up. There seems no end to their continuous onslaught, more battlecruisers warping in to replace each one that Voltron slew. It’s slowly spiralling out of control.

Shiro exhales sharply. The fleet fans out beneath him in vicious purple stars. Weaving throughout are various forms of light: blue and yellow and green spinning, spinning. Red is a sturdy and telltale streak. Explosions are quickly strangled by space as the lights dart through the fleet. There’s too many. They don’t have the energy to continue like this.

A quiet trill as Black nudges at his thoughts, directing him to the control screens. They light up, a series of equations and formulas that end in salvation, in furious destruction. Shiro laughs, bares his teeth in satisfaction, and punches in the codes. Black roars.

“Everyone,  _scatter_!” Shiro shouts. The lights below shoot off in different directions as Black’s wings flare wide. The groan of metal shifting rings throughout the cockpit. The fleet turns as one toward Black. The bond thrums with excitement, with vicious glee as Black rears back and the equation completes. A barrage of missiles fire from the slots in Black’s chest, spirals of purple light wreathed in blue-white flame.

The fleet breaks beneath the onslaught.

Black’s wings flare wider, brighter, a brilliant star that the other Lions circle back toward. Shiro punches forward. The barrage becomes a cleaving axe, blowing ships into stardust as Black sweeps over the entirety of the fleet. The largest ship gains the highest concentration, fracturing with spiderweb delicacy before crumpling like a discarded ball of paper. The force of the outward explosion rocks through Black, through Shiro, and the sting of metal catches on the back of his tongue. He snarls. Black roars.

The rest of the fleet backpedals, desperate to regroup and reorient. The Lions shoot by Shiro, flying directly into the onslaught and corralling the stragglers. At Shiro’s command, they scatter again, the fleet bowing beneath the pressure. With one final flare of Black’s wings, the barrage tampers off. The rest of the Paladins dart in for clean up as Black droops. Her exhaustion amplifies Shiro’s own.

“Thanks,” Shiro says, unclenching his fingers around the controls with a groan. Pain alights in his left wrist. Black thrums worriedly against his thoughts, curious despite Shiro’s reluctance, and Shiro allows her to poke at the pain flicking hot and fast up his arm. She soothes it with a purr, and Shiro smiles.

The last straggler of the impressive fleet is destroyed by Yellow, barreling into it full force. Shiro sags in his seat, massaging at his wrist carefully. Exhaustion prickles hot at his temples. There’s a quiet throb against his right hip, when Black had been thrown into the side of a ship and pinned for a hot minute before Keith and Pidge had freed him. Black nudges against his thoughts again, a quiet purr, and Shiro directs her back toward the castle ship.

“Good job, everyone,” Shiro says, straightening his spine when the video feeds pick up. Everyone is in various states of exhaustion, sweating and shaking and smiling with adrenaline. Lance stretches tall, fingers reaching up and away. Pidge swipes lazily at something off screen. Hunk bows forward until only his forehead is visible, the shine of his helmet reflecting in the screen.

Keith beams. His cheeks flush, gaze bright with a burning intensity mimicked by his Lion. Sweat curls the hair around his eyes. He’s beautiful like this, basking in his element, delight clear in the tremble of his jaw. Shiro winks. Keith laughs, a gut-punch bark of sound.

“That rocket barrage was so cool!” Lance crows, gesturing widely. “New move?”

Shiro chuckles, tired and pleased. “New move. Black was getting irritated.”

“Irritation equals new shit? That’s unfair. Why is it I have to go on a life changing experience with Green to have her give me neat stuff?” Pidge asks, rubbing at her chin. The Green Lion sways out the window. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all about learning and growing; your speeches are getting old, girl.”

“I could sleep for a good ten years.” Hunk pops up properly on camera, jaw cracking as he yawns.

Shiro nods, firmly clenching his teeth to stop from following Hunk’s example. “We all deserve a good rest.”  

Black perks up at the mention of rest, increasing the force of her thrusters until she’s barrelling toward the Castle. Shiro leans back. The other Lions follow suit, chasing Black’s tail the entire way. To Black’s right, Red floats lazily, keeping pace but not joining in on her sister’s fun. Smiling, Shiro closes his eyes.  

 

The briefing is short, thankfully, Allura equally exhausted from providing support. Shiro stifles a yawn behind his hand, tears catching in the corners of his eyes as he stumbles his way back to his room. Keith had departed early with the others, hopefully to get some rest. Bed sounds amazing. Granted, so does a shower.

Rolling his shoulders, Shiro groans. He’s sore all over; hell, even his toes are cramping. He slaps a hand against his room’s panel, dragging his feet over the threshold. The blankets from this morning are still draped half way across the floor. The soft hum of the shower echoes through the room and Shiro pauses. Keith’s armour sits in a pile beside the dresser, his undersuit collapsed over the entrance to the bathroom and halting the door’s natural closing feature.

Dragging a hand over his face, Shiro plucks at his armour, frustrated that he can’t just  _will_ it off. He trips his way over to the bathroom, shedding the chest armour and the bracers, dropping the belt to the floor, and struggling with his thigh plating. He nearly brains himself yanking off his boots, but catches himself on the frame. Keith’s just inside, scrubbing his hands through his hair while the shower heats up. Shiro leans against the door and yawns at him.

“Come on, then,” Keith says, holding out a hand. Shiro slips in and drops his forehead against Keith’s bare shoulder, spreading one palm over Keith’s belly and the other against the dip of his spine. Keith turns his head to brush a kiss against Shiro’s hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t wanna,” Shiro murmurs, rolling his nose against Keith’s arm. Slim fingers slide up Shiro’s spine and he hums into it, arching back into the touch. Keith snorts. With a deft flick of his wrist, he taps the series of locking mechanisms on the back of the suit, its confines releasing. Shiro gusts out a moan and rolls his shoulders. A chill passes over his skin and he cuddles Keith closer, rubbing his cheek against a bony shoulder.

“Stop that.” Keith peels Shiro off of him, assisting with getting the arms of the suit down Shiro’s biceps and over his grabby hands, shoving the entire thing to Shiro’s waist. Water thrums over the tiles, a soft pitter-patter reminiscent of rain. Shiro peels off the last of his undersuit with a groan. Keith runs a palm over his waist, along the dots of his spine, and Shiro sways into the touch. A soft edge bruises Keith’s eyes, his smile exhausted but pleased. Shiro reaches for Keith’s hand. Keith slips into the shower.

“No fair,” Shiro whines. Laughter blotted by water mocks his pout. Folding the suit into some semblance of order, Shiro drops it on the sink and stumbles his way inside.

Water splashes up and over his ankles as he wrenches the glass closed. Keith’s fingers dance along his waist, fanning over his shoulder blades, and dig sharp into the tense muscle there. A happy moan rumbles out of Shiro’s chest as he drops his head forward. Keith brushes a kiss against the knobs of Shiro’s spine, thumbs working against a particularly stubborn knot. Shiro rocks forward, hair brushing glass. Everything is hazy. Exhaustion bumps up against overlapping soreness and Shiro sighs when Keith tugs at him.  

Turning is an endeavour, Shiro yelping as water finally splashes onto the rest of him. It’s  _boiling_ , nearly too much, but Keith just taps him on the nose and draws him further in. As it rains down over his shoulders, hot, nearly too hot, Shiro closes his eyes in barely restrained bliss.

“You’re so easy,” Keith whispers, laughing when Shiro squints at him. A palm spreads over Shiro’s belly, fingers curious against warming skin, and Shiro catches Keith’s wrist, raises his knuckles up until Shiro can press a quick kiss against them. Keith’s smile crinkles the edges of his exhaustion, blots away the smudges under his eyes. He reaches up and Shiro bows to meet him.

Keith’s mouth is warm, just like the rest of him. Shiro hums, keeping the kiss soft, exploratory. Keith pulls on his fringe. Laughing, Shiro presses his smile to Keith’s bottom lip, pulls back and brushes it against Keith’s forehead. They sway together, water raining around them, until Shiro’s vision fuzzes.

“Come here,” Keith says, palms sliding along Shiro’s shoulders and tugging. With clumsy grace, Shiro drops forward until his forehead slides against Keith’s shoulder, his nose brushing along a thrumming pulse. Keith massages the back of Shiro’s neck, fingers warm and steady, blissfully certain as they catch and work out the tightness clinging stubbornly beneath Shiro’s skin.

It’s euphoric, but muted, as though Shiro views it through tinted glass. His exhaustion is absolute, tugging at the fragility of consciousness with all the vicious certainty of a clear victory. He mumbles Keith’s name, kisses it into Keith’s skin even as Keith works lather into his hair. He brushes sleepy hands over Keith’s waist, the arch of his spine, the swell of his ass. Keith flicks him on the ear for that. Shiro burrows closer, safe in the knowledge that Keith will hold him upright. Suds slip heavy down his spine as Keith pulls back, baring Shiro to the spray.

Protesting, Shiro clings even as the water runs clear. Keith keeps up his ministrations, cradling the back of Shiro’s neck as he washes his own hair. Shiro squints against the soapy spray. They remain like that, twisted together until Keith runs both palms down Shiro’s spine and pinches his side.

“No,” Shiro grumbles, tugging Keith close until he’s forced to arch to maintain the contact.

Keith huffs another laugh, soft, easy. “I’m not drowning in here with you. You can cuddle me all you want in bed.”

Ducking in quick, Shiro blows a raspberry against Keith’s throat before stepping away. Keith gasps, a half strangled shriek, before barking out Shiro’s name in disbelief. Tripping his way out of the shower, Shiro gropes for a towel, tossing one in Keith’s face to stop him from chewing Shiro out. Surprise is a better look on Keith than exhaustion, so Shiro pads dripping wet out into the bedroom, grinning at Keith’s scolding ‘ _Shiro!_ ’ that follows.

He doesn’t make it to the bed. Keith slings a towel around Shiro’s waist, hauling him back. They stumble together, shaky limbs and exhaustion tripping up their usual grace. Shiro catches Keith’s bicep; Keith smacks a hand against Shiro’s hip; they go down in a pile on the clean, dry sheets.

“You get the wet side,” Shiro says immediately. Keith’s head pops up from near Shiro’s hip, indignation swiftly shifting to determination. They roll across the bed, Shiro scrambling when Keith shoves him right into the wet spot. He catches Keith around the ribs, yanks him back and over, and Keith goes down with a barely restrained yell.

“I thought you were tired!” Keith says, muffled partially by the pillows as Shiro bats his hands away and flops down on top of him.

Spreading his palms over Keith’s stomach, Shiro ducks himself beneath Keith’s chin. “I can still play dirty when I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith grouses, fingers combing through the wet mess of Shiro’s hair. Keith squirms to get comfortable and Shiro cradles his hip, running a thumb over the thin skin along bone. Keith calls for the lights to dim, not enough to plunge them into darkness, but to merge the haziness of Shiro’s vision with the electronic fabrication of twilight.

The burn of fatigue mixed with the warmth of the shower and Keith’s body tugs at Shiro’s senses. Tucking his nose into the hollow of Keith’s throat, Shiro relaxes. Every exhale brings him another layer of relaxation, his thoughts fuzzing and his eyes drooping. Keith’s nails scratch gently against the grain of Shiro’s hair. Murmuring Keith’s name, Shiro snuggles in close and presses an exhausted kiss to Keith’s collarbone.

Shiro drops into sleep, warm and content, Keith’s heart thrumming against his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on[ tumblr](http://ashinan.tumblr.com/) where I'm in sheith hell all the time forever.


End file.
